Overwatch: Rising from the ashes
by CrimsonCrusader16
Summary: Arcane, a light-footed and quick-witted assassin earns himself a spot in the ranks of Talon. But after a somewhat short stay, and revelations that not even the master hacker Sombra was aware of, a small team of Talon's heroes attempt a defect operation to join the right side, Overwatch. But when the war rages on, will Arcane be able to defeat the army he helped create?
1. The spark to ignite

A/N:

Hey guys! So I don't know if my last attempt at writing a fanfiction was even noticed by anyone, it was called "Pokemon: Journey throughout history" if that means anything to you guys. But this is me, the same guy again, back in the creative writing field with a fresh mind, more refined writing style and a new fanfiction in the works, I'll be tackling the Overwatch universe in the "Rising from the ashes" story I'm about to tell. Here is chapter one, I hope you guys enjoy. :)

Evening, just a little way back from a cliff, overlooking what was once Yarra Valley, the gem of Australia. Junkertown, a settlement built by the survivors of a nuclear rain. The smell of fallout, and old fuel in the air, rusted metal walls separating the settlement into sections, buildings. Junkers roamed the streets, like the undead in an apocalypse, weapons of choice slung over their backs. Maces, axes, hammers, grenade launchers, even sickles. Woosh. A dark, streamlined figure slunk through the shade, undetected. Navy blue armor coated his muscular, athletic build. A large, matching blue sword sat in the straps on his back, a smooth crack down the center. His mask covered the bottom of his face, allowing his shaggy, light blue-tinted hair to fall around the sides of his head. His head twitched around like a wary cat, searching, scanning the area for signs of danger, watching the catwalks as men, women and children dragged themselves from A to B. Junkertown wasn't a fun place to live. Well, Arcane couldn't really say much, he lived in a kitted out cave, himself. But at the very least, he wasn't suffering from radiation poisoning just by existing there.

When the nuclear bombs had dropped, Australia had been plunged into chaos, but the strongest survived, and rose up like Zombies. They had come together, built this place on top of the heap, established as close to a society as they were ever going to get. That was going to change if Arcane had anything to say about it.

With the elegance and grace of a tiger, he climbed up one of the corroded walls, perching on the slanted, corrugated roof of one of the 'buildings' and keeping a keen eye on the lesser beings below. The junkers were strange, their main communication involved a lot of shouting, the entertainment came from a mech battle arena, it was…

It made these people interesting, and Arcane would stay to study them if there wasn't a prize over their Queen's head. Slip. A few loose pieces of gravel shifted underfoot, as if they were fleeing from the intimidation of the assassin. He dropped to flatten himself against the warm metal as a couple of junkers looked in his direction. One of them, a female with a patchwork, hooded trench coat, and an ammo belt pulled a makeshift sniper-rifle off of her back and put the scope in the direction of the sound. "Put the place on low alert, could be an intruder, but no proof yet" Her accent came through thick and harsh, clearly a local. "Merda…" He cursed in his native tongue, an Italian hint to his voice. Arcane is not one to set off any alarms until the kill is made, but he could easily fight his way out of here should he need to. A minute passed, Arcane remained completely still as if a Tyrannosaurus was watching him. The junkers eventually lost interest in the spot and continued on their way, allowing him a moment of relaxation. Gears ground and chains screeched as a large door opened up, like the jaws of a beast swallowing the Junkers whole. The voice of the queen echoed through some crackly speakers- "Welcome to the scrapyard!" Her accent also thick, Australian to the core, he guessed. He also guessed that she'd be somewhere through that door, he just needed a way in without detection...

His electric blue eyes darted across the panels of rusted metal, the sheets thrown together in a miss-matched pattern that was very unpleasing to the tasteful eye. There were windows in the ceiling of the scrapyard, and they had no glass in them at all. Perfect. Without even bothering to calculate, Arcane leaped from his current roof and reached out for the ledge to the top of the Scrapyard, clutching it in his fingers and using all the upper-body strength he could muster to bring himself to a place where he could stand. With one quick move, he brought one hand through his hair, wiping it back from his vision whilst also catching all the sweat on his forehead. This heat would be the end of him if he didn't hurry up! He tread lightly towards the first set of windows and looked down into the building, the group of junkers he'd seen before still making their commute, a loud, echoing conversation between the two rose up to him.  
"Didn't she say something about expanding the territory last time we were here?" A large, bulky man with a crooked nose, a metal arm, and a vicious-looking, jagged machete was the first one he heard talking.  
"Yeah, I remember now. It was the day Junkrat and Roadhog tried to get back in" The sniper responded, her hood now down around her neck. Junkrat and Roadhog, those names rung a few bells. Arcane wracked his brains in an attempt to find something, it suddenly came to him. They were world-wide thieves, Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, they went on a heist streak recently, stealing over 7.3 million in American Dollars. Nobody knows where it went… Snapping back to reality, Arcane tuned back into their conversation. A 3rd junker, one who appeared to be piloting a large, spherical mech and talking in an automated voice piped up.  
"Does the queen ever even help with things like this? I swear the only time I've ever seen her out of her throne is when she'd hand the mech-battle champion the award" It seemed as if the voice was coming through the mech instead of the pilot inside. Arcane had seen this mech on multiple posters throughout the place, Wreckingball, was the callsign. In fact, he was pretty sure that when Wreckingball said 'Mech-battle champion', he was referring to himself. And judging from the battle scars on the sphere, Arcane could tell that it was a recent event.

"Enough of the trivial stuff!" He thought to himself. He was wise to guess that this trio was headed to see the queen, he intended to follow them, they'd lead him right to her, right to the heart of Junkertown. As the trio began to make the large U-turn, Arcane noticed a mammoth fan that spun in slow, clunky motions, spinning with a noise that made one wince the same way nails on a chalkboard would. Arcane dropped through the window, landing on the trundling fan's blade and crouching, following behind Wreckingball and the other two with the stealth of a hitman. The U-turn reached its conclusion, and down the home stretch from them, a woman sat on a metal throne. Dark red, spiky hair with a single plait that came to her chest. A torn leather jacket was slung loosely over her shoulders and a large, crooked axe-like weapon was leaned on the side of her throne. Arcane tapped a button on the wrist of his armor, bringing up a small holo-image of his target, it was a perfect match.  
"Target acquired…" Arcane muttered under his breath. The large fan brought him to be level with one of the walls, he jumped on the opportunity and began running along the wall, turning around the sharp, inward corner until he was clinging to the wall just above the woman. None of the walking junkers noticed him, it was perfect. He was ready, stuck to the wall by the flats of his feet and the palm of his left hand, his right resting firmly on the hilt of the sword. Now, all that was left was for the junkers to leave, so he could make the hit without detection. But it wouldn't be a contract from "Ol' Smokey" if things were that simple. Smokey was one of Arcane's clients, who had a habit of making unintentionally hard missions for mercenaries and assassins in his arsenal. Last time Arcane had worked for him, he was supposed to break into a museum and steal the reconstructed skeleton of some dinosaur without damaging any of the bones. He barely made it, he ended up just taking one bone each night over the course of, well, a long time. The point at hand being Smokey being irritatingly difficult to please, but also very rewarding. This was no different, 1.2 million pounds were at hand here, and possibly an escape route if Arcane ever wished to return to a normal life. Not that the man would ever be able to, not after what happened…

The trio stood before the queen for what seemed like hours, Arcane was becoming impatient. His suit was able to handle this, he could play this game all day if he wanted to, it was simply a question of if he wanted to or not. Having avoided detection thus far, he was leaning towards the former, but the latter was a tempting option as of now.

Bore.

Uninterest.

There'd be snow here in Australia before he would be leaving at this rate. Then, voices raised. He leaned in a little further, it sounded like an argument taking place. He peered over the edge to see the queen raising her axe. She kneed the rifle-wielding junker in the stomach, bringing the poor thing to her knees before brutally ending her life with a well-placed axe hit to the back of the neck. "How fitting…" Arcane said to himself. The machete-man recoiled, the mech showed no reaction. "If you're gonna survive in Junkertown, you're gonna have to learn where your place is!" She threatened the two remainders with the blade, pointing in one direction before taking aim at the other, switching between the two as she spoke. "I'm all that most of you have left, remember that…" She turned on her heel, retreating to a corridor on the left of the throne, towards what looked like a treasure room. It was now or never!

"Essere andato!" Arcane dropped from his position, raising the blade high above his head and bringing it through the queen in a single, swift strike between the base of her neck and her waist on the other side. She froze, paralysed from the shock, both literally and metaphorically. Her top half slowly slid off, like an ice cube on a slope, her blood carving intricate patterns into the little mounds of dust on the floor. Wreckingball and the other junker looked at the figure before them, shocked. Then, without warning, they shook themselves free of their paralysis and darted forward. The machete junker raised his blade high above his head, preparing to bring it downwards and cleave into Arcane, however the assassin was too fast for him, he brought his own sword into a horizontal stance and blocked the blow with ease, parrying him to the side and clenching the handle of his sword in both hands, taking aim and blasting a large beam of light directly at him. When the beam dissipated, all that remained was a small, singed pile of ashes. Wreckingball advanced next, his mech tucking its legs into its body and rolling towards Arcane with break-neck speed. He braced himself, holding the sideways stance again and digging his heels in as the sphere began to push him backwards. Then, Wreckingball saw his mistake, like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. Arcane squeezed the handle of his blade, and the split down the middle of it widened, two swords ready for the fight. He held the first sword in its place against the spinning mech, holding steady as he aimed the second and jammed it into a chink in the armour. The robot recoiled like a cat with a slice of cheese on its face, pulling back instantly and trembling violently. Without warning, Arcane drew closer once more, raising the blades high above his head and bringing them down, hard. The metal surface shuddered and rippled at the impact, threatening to buckle and give way. It was here that a large, steel cable emerged from the Wreckingball, attaching to the propeller blade he'd rode in on and dragging himself away from the fight, extending one of his mech's arms as he trundled past an alarm button to alert the rest of the Junkers.

The ringing of the bells had a short reign before 1,000 Australian roars took over, multiple warriors flooding into the scrapyard and blocking the exits. To his right, atop the ledge the propeller was welded to, four Junkers readied makeshift assault-rifles, taking aim at the elusive figure. It was all in vain, the moment they began to fire, he darted off to the left, scampering up the wall and pushing himself off, completing two somersaults before readying the broadsword configuration and blasting another beam, annihilating two of the men and sending a third fleeing for his life. The formidable swordsman landed in a crouch on the same ledge as the last Junker remaining, who sent a well-placed sonic-grenade to Arcane's feet. A loud boom echoed throughout the scrapyard. Arcane's ears were filled with a high-pitched wail that refused to let-up. He took one hand away from his sword and moved up to his mask, pressing a small button that extended the metal over his ears, protection from any further damage. He looked around for a moment, the Junker in front of him was charging forward, holding the rifle by the barrel, stubborn in the losing fight as he brought the butt of the firearm down. Arcane brought the sword up to deflect the attack, knocking the rifle into the ground and shoving the hilt of his sword into the Junker's face, the hand-guard gouging out his eye. His arms dropped the weapon as he clutched his bleeding socket, blinded. Arcane took advantage of the disabled foe, holding the broadsword in a reverse grip and driving the blade into his stomach, then out through it. Intestines were skewered on the blade, drenching it in even more blood than what the queen had given off. The smell of iron filled the air, infiltrating Arcane's nose and causing him to cringe.

A new wave of Junkers below that had come to continue the fight. One of them was another sniper, he raised his rifle up to aim and sent a well-placed bullet into his shoulder, knocking him from the high ground. He sprawled to the floor like a doll being tossed aside by a young child who no-longer cared for him, his armor clattering on the ground, a little of the blood from the queen splashing against his back. His legs kicked into the air, the momentum bringing him back onto his feet in one quick movement. The blade split again, the dual configuration, one in each hand. The tips dragged along the ground, sparks flying and lighting stray piles of sulphur as he dashed underneath the ledge he had just been on, dipping down, then leaping up. The flats of his blades smacked into the sniper, sweeping his legs out from beneath him and finishing with a quick stab into the man's chest. Two more of the new opponents came towards him, slow and intimidating this time. The adrenaline pumped through Arcane's veins, sweat seeping from the pores of his skin like a carpet of volcanoes sent into eruption. This was what he lived for now, the thrill of a battle, making every move as if it was his last because it just might be. The first warrior, wearing little armor and equipped with a large, stiff mace, swung with the might of a bull, fire in his eyes. The base of the ball-end clung to the sword in Arcane's right hand, sliding the blade down the handle and slicing at the hands clenched around it. The man clutched at his bleeding knuckles, dropping the blunt thing with a resounding, metallic sound. Arcane twirled clockwise, spinning to the right of him and driving the blade into his back with a reverse grip, blocking an attack from another junker with a scythe. Retracting the bloodied blade from the spine of the fallen soldier resulted in an easy follow up to the block, a hilt smash straight into the sickle-wielder. He doubled over, his head in a perfect position for a swift decapitation. Aware they were on the losing side, the remaining three began to flee from the scene, but were halted by the door falling violently shut after another beam blasted the open-and-close mechanism to pieces with ease, the chains squealing and the gears splintering from the attack that left them shattered. The victims watched as he closed in, their piercing screams of terror filled the streets of Junkertown shortly after...

Just around the bend from the entrance to the scrapyard, the locals had set up a temporary roadblock, consisting of striped bars and a rusty truck, setting themselves cover behind it and readying their weapons over the top. Screams reached their ears, echoing, reverberating through the cramped spaces and sending multiple chills down each of their spines. Wreckingball, now patched up, was with them, hiding in the wings for an ambush attack from above. They waited.

And waited.

Nothing, no signs of Arcane anywhere.

For 5 minutes.

"Fuori dai piedi!" Everyone turned their heads, looking over the shoulder to see their target standing behind them, with a questionable stance. His blade pointed towards his own chest. Everyone began to cackle. Taunts.  
"Look at this guy! He can't even hold a sword roight!"  
Jeers.  
"It's home or heaven, your choice at this point!"  
Unawareness of what was in store.  
"Is he cutting himself open?"  
Cockiness, Arrogance, not a spark of fear anywhere around their bodies.

That Junker was right, Arcane was indeed cutting himself open. With the tip of his blade, he brought it to his left shoulder and pressed it inward about an inch, gripping the handle with both hands and pulling in a diagonal slice from there to his right flank. The move was quick and clean, the cut blaring through with a blazing, radiating light.  
But he wasn't done. Next was a stroke from the right shoulder to the left flank, creating an X drawn into his front. Then he began to pick up the pace. He went from left flank to left shoulder, left shoulder to right shoulder, right shoulder to right flank, and finished with a horizontal strike across the bottom, carving a box around the cross. Once the incisions were complete, the white light was no longer held back. A screen of aura eradicated all life in front of him, washing over each and every one of the fighters and burning the skin and flesh from their bones within a second of the wave hitting them. Mechs topple, barriers flew, the large truck in the road-block rolled over. Devastation, unstoppable force.

The light was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Arcane floating mid-air for a second before dropping to the ground, clutching at where his wounds had been but a moment ago. Soreness coursed through his chest. That move always took a lot out of them, but it was so satisfying to see the confused look on their faces when they saw the questionable decision of hurting himself in the heat of a fight. Finally, he picked himself up and threw his sword back into the scabbard, looking at the last line of defence Junkertown had, the line he had just up and deemed destroyed.  
Gone in the blink of an eye.  
Flames spread across the flammable items on the floor, spilled gunpowder from the weapons, loose grenades, a mech's wreckage was about to overload and explode, and Arcane didn't want to be around to see that. The blue figure turned and ran, dashing across the low flames like a coal-walker. The merciless mech showed no signs of leeway, the low hum of its energy core raising and raising until it could take no more.

Boom!

The horrid sound cracked around the clearing, the blast kicking Arcane out of Junkertown through the window while flames licked out after him, the tongue of a serpent, searching but unable to find anything of value. He landed on the desert sands with a graceful roll, finishing in a low crouch, cat-like reflexes returning to him in a time of need. Pants escaped him through slightly parted lips, blowing little grains of sand in different directions, skittering across the solid terrain, each one a frolicking toddler without a care in the world, letting the wind take them wherever it desired. A pair of shadows stretched out across the ground in front of him. Arcane looked up and saw whom they belonged to. A scrawny man with a bionic arm, and a peg-leg, wielded a nade launcher. No shirt covered his bare, hairless chest and a pair of torn jeans didn't do much to compensate. His spiky, blonde hair had little embers dancing between their strands, and his skin was coated with a thin layer of soot. His entire body abruptly shuddered with each breath. His companion, a tall, morbidly obese man with a compact shotgun and a dark-grey mask fashioned to look like the face of a pig hiding his mug from recognition. A large, metal hook chained to a winch at his waist was clenched tightly in his other hand, and his belly heaved with timed inhales and exhales.

Junkrat and Roadhog. The two thieves glanced first at Arcane, then at the smoke pouring from the place they had once called their home. The Italian assassin slugged his sword from its resting place on his back, swinging it threateningly before bringing it into a two-handed stance with the tip facing at them.  
"Roadie! Hold 'im off! I'll get the bike started!" Of all the accents Arcane had heard today, the high-pitched cackle that emerged from the lips of Junkrat was arguably the most annoying one. The one-legged man bounded off behind the wooden shacks from the founders of Junkertown, whereas his 'friend' stood his ground, brandishing his hook and readying his scrap-gun. Arcane bolted from a stand-still, swiftly closing the gap between him and Roadhog. The bloated crook swung his hook horizontally, attempting to cleave into Arcane, but the small figure ducked and slid beneath the strike like it was nothing at all, appearing behind him. Hog lumbered forward, pulling the trigger a couple of times on his gun and sending nuts, bolts and any other scrap he could cram into the barrel out towards him. The jagged metal chipped at his armour, sending scratches across its pristine craftsmanship. Arcane extended both arms, pointing the weapon at his new-found foe and blasting with 'Unknown Beam' The One-Man Apocalypse pulled a yellow canister out of his belt and shoved it's nozzle into a small gap in his mask, inhaling hard as the concentrated attack bore into the boar. When the beam faded, not a scratch appeared on him.  
"Urgh, I love this bloody stuff!" Roadhog's voice was unlike anything he'd heard today, it was deep and guttural, almost like the voice of a smoker in the way that it sounded like he was struggling to breathe, except a lot stronger. With one final attempt, the assassin ran towards him, bringing the sword into dual wield and dragging their ends across the ground. At the last moment, he brought the swords up, aiming for a double slash from left to right. Hog caught both blades on the inside of his hook, bringing the three intertwined weapons over their heads in a wide arc and digging them into the ground. The roar of a motorcycle filled the air.  
"C'mon Roadie, hop on!" Roadhog left Arcane with his swords buried in the dirt, trying to pull them out. He lumbered towards the motorcycle and knocked Junkrat into the sidecar, taking the driver's seat for himself and speeding off. Arcane finally loosened the blade's from their terra firma prison with one final tug, but the dynamite duo was long gone. He slung the sword back into its hold and pressed a button on his wrist, a small, light-blue light firing up. "Mission complete, come on down Phoenix…" The small, black airship soared overhead, landing on the ground and sending even more dust to resettle elsewhere. Intricate patterns were painted on in sapphire and lapis. The door opened, inviting Arcane inside. The assassin accepted, climbing aboard and dialing a set of coordinates into the navigation system. Once he pressed enter, the engines roared to life once more, lifting the Phoenix into the sky and carrying him out of sight.

Halfway across the world, the Phoenix finally docked, swooping low over the rushing waves of the English Channel. Foam from the sea splashed up, clinging to the jet-black paint of the ship before being whipped away by the wind. The white cliffs of Dover appeared, rising from the horizon, breathtaking. Arcane's home, inside those cliffs. As he came nearer and nearer, a mouth began to open in the cliff-face, a cave with electric-blue lighting lining the crevices like the trim on a clothing item. The Phoenix slowed, the speedometer toppling over like a chopped tree, stopping at the 20 miles per hour mark. The ship closed the gap, sliding into the bunker and settling down on a helipad-type landing spot. Air hissed as the jagged mouth of the entrance sidled shut, any evidence of the hideout's existence invisible from the outside. The latch of the ship detached and laid itself down, the smooth metal transforming into a set of steps for Arcane to exit back onto terra firma. An automated voice echoed throughout the room. "Password?" The voice was male. Despite being a recording, it was smooth and rich. Arcane responded, "Prende el tuo", a second door opening on cue, the gears groaning in protest as they forced the two heavy metal sheets away from each other. Arcane walked through the doors, T-posing against a wall to his left and whistling. Almost immediately, an armada of metallic tendrils reached down, closing on different pieces of armour and removing them from his body, leaving just his under clothes. The arms retracted, and another pair bearing a blue T-shirt with an Italian flag on the sleeve reached down, Arcane raising his arms and letting the fabric fall over him. A pair of denim shorts were pushed up his legs by yet another pair of arms, spawning from the floor. With the new attire, all tendrils retracted into their homes, Arcane continuing. The 'Enigma Blade' still remained on his back, there was a special place for that.

As he continued on, there appeared a small, simple computer setup, a chair tucked neatly under the desk it sat on. A small, empty glass case sat behind it, sandwiched between the podium below it and the small aquarium on top, the fish tank containing a few Blue Tang.  
The Office.  
Arcane entered the small room, taking the sword off of his back and carefully sliding it into the glass case before pushing the lid firmly shut. He walked around the tank, casually tapping a knuckle against a button that released enough fish-food to go around. Forcefully, he slumped into the chair, sending eerie creaking sounds throughout the cave as they bounced around the tight spaces and found themselves back in his ears. He winced. He reached out and grabbed a tissue, wiping the sweat from his forehead before logging onto the computer, inputting a different password to the previous entry word he'd used. "Mugello…" The word hurt Arcane to type it, but it was a password he was sure nobody would ever guess, should anyone get this far into his base. The computer whirred and hummed, slowly coming to life and showing a barren desk-top. Only two short-cuts existed, 'Hit-list' and 'Holonet.' The cursor slid across the screen, resting on the Hit-list and clicking, opening the new window, filling the screen with a spreadsheet. He ticked off a box next to the name "Jessica Fawkes" with the callsign "Queen of Junkertown" beside it. After a few seconds, a notification appeared on his screen, alerting him that eighty-three thousand dollars had just been deposited into his account. His hand wrapped protectively around the mouse. The glowing attachment slid across the desk, the wheel between the buttons spinning under Arcane's dexterous middle finger to scroll the screen through the list, scanning the countless names on it.  
Finally, he settled, a dark-grey Omnic by the name of Maximilien. He clicked on the attached file, opening more details other than a picture and a name. Age, affiliations, current workplace, but the organisation that he was working for is what shook the man to his hold, enigmatic core.  
 _Talon_.  
"Holy shit…" He muttered under his breath, almost afraid someone would hear him. He'd never been tasked with a hit on a Talon member before. This would be one of the hardest challenges of his life. It seemed futile. Fruitless. No possibility to gain anything from such an outlandish task. But the reward. Oh the reward! $4,000,000, just for short-circuiting a big-headed bot? A big-headed bot, likely residing in a heavily defended stronghold under the protection of a thousand-man-strong army? Arcane's hand moved back and forth, searching for the correct way to go about this. Seeing a pro and hovering over the accept button, then thinking of a con and retreating towards the back button. Back and forth.  
Back and forth.  
 _Back and forth_.  
4 Million, one target, one night… His mind was made up. He set the contract into stone, pressing his index finger into the mouse button and solidifying a life-changing decision. _Life-changing_ , nothing would be the same for Arcane after this mission was over. He just didn't know it yet...


	2. The enigma

Deep below the ground, computers whirred and hummed. A tanned woman with purple attire sat at a desk of her own, in an isolated room. Images danced across her screen, images of an invincible swordsman halfway across the world. Beams, explosions, tackles…

"Who is this guy?" Her hispanic accent came out strong as she tapped away at her computer, a vain attempt to find some facial matches. "He'd be amazing to have with us if he can fight like that…" She stays glued to her seat, searching, searching…

"Having fun there, Sombra?" A gravelly voice calls out to her. Sombra turns in her swivel chair to face a man cloaked in a dark trench-coat with a skull-like mask neatly covering his face.

"Fun's not quite the word I'd use." She responds, gesturing for him to sit down and watch with her. "Take a look at what I've found." Reaper comes over and takes a seat next to her.

"What's up?" He puts his attention to the screen and watches the same footage of the assassin. Dropping down from the wall and killing the Junker Queen with a single strike, then fighting tooth and tail to escape with his life. "Who… Who is he?" As the video ended, Reaper turned to face Sombra. "I've never seen anything like him."

"I know, that's the scariest part!" She responded, slightly panicked. "I can't find any information on him anywhere. Name, base of operations, anything. He's a total enigma to me, and that's not very common, I'm sure you know!" Reaper lets a small chuckle out at this remark.

"What? Somebody losing their touch?" He continues to laugh at his own joke, but Sombra is clearly not pleased.

"Pffft! As if, I just need a facial scan and I'm sure I can find something!" She looks over to the screen again. "It's just that mask that's the problem." Reaper pushes himself up from his spot.

"If you find anything, let us know. He'd be an invaluable asset to have on our side." He began to transform into mist, the black cloud floating away from the scene and leaving Sombra to her own thoughts.

"Who are you…?"

An alarm woke Arcane from his sleep, he bolted upright and checked the clock. Time to try his hand at a Talon member. He pulled himself out of bed and ambled out of his bedroom, returning to the main foyer. Before he made his way to the suit-up contraption, he opened the contract on his computer once again and glanced over the details to make sure he had everything right.

No alarms, in and out operation.

Satisfied, he stood on the metal plate and stretched his arms out, letting the robotic limbs reach down and place the armour back on his body. He returned to the fish tank and picked the sword up, feeling it's weight in his hand bringing him comfort. Carelessly, he slugged the blade over his shoulder and into its sheath before marching towards the Phoenix. The airship's engines roared to life once more, the door in the cliff opening like the jaws of a dragon. The entire cave trembled with the motion as Arcane climbed aboard the ship and dialed in the given location, somewhere in the middle of the desert in Montana. The ship heaved and lifted, turning on the spot before rushing through the opening and out into the clear night sky.

The ocean below the Phoenix gave way to the landmass of North America. Before long, there was desert below him, the ship homing in on Arcane's destination.

When the ship landed, he noticed he was still 400 meters away. Likely a precaution to avoid detection. He activated the lock on the jet-black steed and began to creep through the sandy dune, crouched and balanced. His footsteps light, leaving barely a nanometer deep print in the ground, padding silently through the dying shrubbery.

Rustling…

Arcane dropped flat on his stomach behind a mound of sand. There had been movement in the bush in front of him. Was it a sniper? Or some other kind of guard? The crunching of the sand beneath their feet was enough indication that it was no human at all. A lynx poked its curious head around the mound and locked eye contact with the prone mercenary, who shooed it away with a single hand. The cat didn't move, she just sat in her spot and stared at him.

"Urgh, oh my God…" He brought the sword off of his back and rose to his feet, swinging in menacing arcs that finally warded the thing off. He continued on his way, brushing through the skeletal bush that he'd first seen the lynx appear in as he shoved his weapon back into it's hold on his back.

He came into a clearing, surrounded by banks of sand and a circle of cacti. This wasn't natural. Curious, he retrieved his sword and switched into the dual wield mode, swinging one of them into the nearest cactus. No water bled from the wound, these were man made. A small hole in the sand, barely the size of a crawling human, caught his attention, the darkness inviting him to investigate. The sword found itself back in it's hold, crying for attention, yearning for a fight against something more than a plant. The enigma dropped onto his front again, pulling himself along the ground and into the gaping mouth of the terrain.

The dark swallowed him, he had no idea where he was going. He simply kept crawling wherever the walls lead him to. After a while, the sounds of his knees and elbows colliding with the ground beneath him began to sound a lot less like sand and a lot more like the crumpling of metal.

 _An air vent…_

It couldn't be this easy, right? There'd be monitoring in the vents? He stopped in his tracks, listening for any sound that might be coming from whatever room this lead to. Silence. Sickening silence. He moved forward a little bit more, nearly falling down a vertical drop to it. He scrambled against smooth metal to prevent his fall. Again, he peeked his head over the edge to see if there was anything visible. Down below, like a light at the end of the tunnel, there was a small speckle of an air-vent grate leading into some kind of corridor.

"I'm in…"


End file.
